


Fear and Self-Loathing in Beacon Hills

by laminy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Rimming, Stiles really likes Derek, and Derek really likes Stiles, and Derek thinks he's going to hurt Stiles, but Stiles is a little afraid and embarassed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laminy/pseuds/laminy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to fill a prompt over at Teen Wolf Kink:  Derek and Stiles are together. All is well, except they can't get past kissing. Stiles stinks of fear (of not being good enough), which Derek takes as fear of him. Post-season two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear and Self-Loathing in Beacon Hills

**Author's Note:**

> In reality, obviously, I think that Dylan O'Brien is beyond beyond gorgeous, so all of the issues that Stiles has with himself are not issues that I have with him. Also, I'm a little unsure about their voices in this. It was my first Teen Wolf fic and I was still getting comfortable with them at the time.
> 
> I wrote this a couple of months ago and posted it on my Livejournal, so you may have seen it, but I just finally got this A03 account, so now it's here.

Even Stiles found it hard to believe at the time, but eventually, life in Beacon Hills did calm down, by quite a bit. At a certain point, Stiles stopped being afraid when he woke up everyday. He was no longer convinced that he would die before graduation. He got to stop lying to his father about why he was always at mysterious crime scenes, because there were actually no more mysterious crime scenes. 

Derek Hale apparently didn’t get the message. Stiles made a joke once that it was sent out in a town-wide email bulletin, and did Derek even know what email was? He thought it was funny; Derek, no surprise, did not. Stiles strongly suspected that Peter was the funny Hale.

So, for all of the calm that had settled over Beacon Hills, reminding Stiles of before Scott had even been bitten, he admittedly freaked out when Derek climbed in his bedroom window one evening. After he caught his breath and got up off the floor, he asked Derek what he wanted. What new big bad evil should Stiles start Googling in preparation for? Derek didn’t have an answer. It was a Friday night, the sun was just going down, and Derek had somehow ended up in Stiles’ room just by force of habit.

“Well, my dad is at work, so I’m occupying my living room and watching horribly awesome movies with a shit-ton of popcorn and candy, if you actually have nothing better to do,” Stiles had offered. Which was how they ended up sitting together on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on each of their laps and several bags of candy opened on the coffee table in front of them as they watched _Cabin Fever_. Stiles had suggested they just use one big bowl, until he found out that Derek had just wanted sour cream and chives seasoning, as opposed to his own white cheddar/nacho cheese mix. 

When he didn’t have to worry about dying (at the hands of Derek or otherwise) and he could just relax, Stiles’ mind could turn to other things. Like how gorgeous Derek was, and how close they were sitting to each other on the couch. Like how Stiles had stopped being obsessed with Lydia weeks, maybe even months before, and how that meant Stiles thought about Derek more often. Like how Stiles had actually gotten really excited when he saw that _Swimfan_ was on Netflix but ultimately he decided they shouldn’t watch it because it gave his stomach butterflies to think about when he and Derek had spent a couple hours in the pool themselves. Granted, the entire time they were dead tired and scared shitless, but Stiles is just a horny teenager, underneath it all, and maybe they should just avoid any and all movies with sex scenes and -- holy shit Stiles had forgotten that _Cabin Fever_ had a sex scene.

Stiles cleared his throat loudly, nervously, and started picking at his ear as he looked anywhere but at the screen. Which included at Derek, and yeah, that was not a good idea either because apparently Derek lacked the good grace to be ugly and stupid when Stiles needed him to be. The fucking bastard was probably getting even sexier, in fact.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles had muttered under a long, drawn-out breath, now picking at a couple of loose threads on the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Stiles,” Derek said sharply.

“Yes?” Stiles practically jumped out of his skin at that, and he looked back and forth between Derek and the television and oh, thank god the sex had ended. “Uh, yeah?” he asked nervously.

“Calm down,” Derek commanded, reaching over to the coffee table to grab a handful of peanut M&M’s. 

“Okay.” Stiles nodded and let out a heavy breath, trying to slow his heart down because he had just realized it was beating heavily and Derek must have been able to hear it. He glanced over at Derek, seeing that with one hand, Derek was eating, but Derek’s right hand was resting on his thigh, and just maybe Derek’s claws had come out a little, betraying the calm façade that he was trying to put on.

Stiles had figured that Derek was probably just pissed that Stiles’ heart was louder than the speakers were, but for once, he decided that if anything good in life was going to happen to him, he had to make it happen. “Derek?” Stiles had asked softly, still eyeing the claws, which had to have meant something, because Stiles wanted them to mean something. Mean something like how Derek had pushed Stiles out of the way of the kanima.

“Yes?” Derek asked, eyes still focused on the television screen.

“How much more would you hate me if I-- if I maybe, like --” and Stiles had felt like all of the air was leaving his lungs and all of his IQ points were flying out the window and words, how did they work, because what the hell was he even trying to say and --

“I don’t hate you,” Derek had replied, saving Stiles from whatever he was trying to say. 

“Oh.” Stiles needed a moment to absorb that. He felt certain that Derek had literally said the words ‘I hate you’ to him at some point since they had met, but he wasn’t going to argue it. Stiles knew that he was a man-child of many words, but Derek was a man of action, so action was how Stiles was going to go about this. He reached out before he had a chance to change his mind and lifted Derek’s hand off his thigh, turned it over, and slipped their fingers together. Stiles clenched his eyes shut and waited for Derek to yell at him, or wrench his arm out of the socket and beat him to death with it before jumping off the couch and spilling the popcorn everywhere. But it never came. Stiles had opened his eyes and turned towards Derek, who was rubbing the pad of his thumb on Stiles’ hand.

“Your hands are cold,” Derek had said, meeting Stiles’ eyes.

“Are they?” Stiles asked, honestly thinking that Derek was actually just really warm. “I didn’t notice, I guess. Sorry.”

Derek kept his eyes on Stiles as he raised their joined hands to press his lips to Stiles’ skin. “Is that okay?” There had been something soft and broken in Derek’s voice, something that Stiles didn’t think he’d ever heard before, and it had made him think that Derek was equally prepared for Stiles to push him away. Because to most people, Derek was just a big bad wolf with seriously major personality problems who spent most of his time alone, and this totally _wouldn’t_ be okay.

“Let go and I will hate you for the rest of my life,” Stiles had replied with a smile, and Derek had just rolled his eyes, but he kept their hands together, resting on Derek’s lap. They sat in silence until the movie ended and Stiles had to choose a new one. 

“Should I go?” Derek asked quiet, eyes moving quickly as he searched Stiles for an answer. 

“Dude, I thought we were movie-marathoning,” Stiles had replied, grabbing the remote. “And one movie does not a marathon make. Your choice if you stay?” he asked, maybe sounding a little too hopeful. He offered Derek the remote, and held his breath until he took it.

“ _Mad Max_ ,” Derek said after only a few moments of searching, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Really? _Mad Max_?” Stiles asked in disbelief. “That’s not a little too…I don’t know, _obvious_ for you, Mister Vengeance?”

“You said it was my choice,” Derek reminded him. “Should I go?” And this time, it wasn’t soft or serious; it was a joke and a threat. Because Stiles had been so obvious that Derek knew he wouldn’t let him go. 

“Oh, no, no,” Stiles said quickly, settling back down on the couch, closer to Derek than he had been before. “No, this is fine. But now we have to watch all of them, because I fucking love me some Thunderdome, okay? _‘We don’t need another hero, we don’t need to know the way home!’_ ”

“Stiles?” Derek’s breath was warm and heavy on Stiles’ ear, and Stiles could barely turn his head to look at him, Derek had been so close.

“Ye-- yeah?” 

“Are you trying to impress me?”

Stiles laughed loudly, because that wasn’t at all what he’d expected Derek to ask and when he looked at Derek, he was brightly smiling back, an actual smile, not just a patented Derek Hale smirk. “I don’t know,” Stiles replied between heavy breaths, “was that impressive? If so, I think you’re actually kind of easy.”

“Let’s just watch the movie,” Derek said, still smiling, and he moved his hand away from Stiles’, but he resettled his arm over Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him in.

Their marathon had ended at around four in the morning, and with Stiles half-asleep, head resting on Derek’s shoulder.

“I’m going to go,” Derek said, slowly standing up, helping Stiles not to fall over on the couch. “It’s really late.”

“Early, actually.”

“Either way,” Derek said, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. “Go to bed.”

“Please stay,” Stiles had said, pushing himself up on couch and watching Derek head towards the front door, which he had never actually used before. “Just…we can watch another movie?”

Derek stopped at the door, and he took a deep breath. It had looked to Stiles as if Derek was making his decision, writing an inner dialogue, maybe literally fighting his inner wolf on the matter. Stiles gasped in surprise when Derek rushed to him and pulled him in for a kiss. And that just was not fair, because obviously Derek was really, really good at kissing, and Stiles felt like the opposite of Batman and he couldn’t do much except just sit there, his mouth hanging open in surprise.

“Okay, well, now you _have_ to stay,” Stiles said quickly after Derek pulled away.

“I have to go,” Derek corrected him. “Go to bed, I’ll see you later.”

“Promise?” Stiles asked, pushing himself further up on the couch, almost ready to just climb over it and climb onto Derek.

“Sure,” Derek had nodded, and Stiles was ready to punch him because _fuck you that’s not an actual answer_ and then Derek slipped out the front door, leaving Stiles alone. He stared at the door for a few moments of silence, then managed to drag himself up the stairs, collapsing heavily, tired ( _and alone_ , was all Stiles could think) on his bed. He fell asleep quickly. He briefly awoke a couple hours later when he heard his dad arrive home, but he just rolled over and fell back asleep.

When his dad knocked on his bedroom door, Stiles’ clock had read 1:43. More than half of his Saturday, gone already. Stiles pushed the covers off him and pulled open the door, rubbing his eyes. “Hey Dad,” he said, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

“You have a guest,” the sheriff had said, gesturing down the stairs. “And it’s late, get up.” Stiles looked at his father in confusion and slowly walked by him, feet heavy on the stairs. Stiles had assumed that it was Scott (really, who else could it have possibly been), so he felt no shame about using the hem of his shirt to wipe the drool off of his mouth, baring most of his belly, or about using his other hand to scratch at his junk because less than five minutes after he wakes up, Stiles has no class.

Instead, it was Derek, waiting by the front door, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket and _fucking hell_ he looked good. Stiles stopped in front of Derek, frozen, unable to move until Derek met his eyes and smiled. 

“Uh, hello,” Stiles said as casually as was possible. “Long time, no see.”

“Didn’t you ask me to come back?” Derek asked, taking a step towards Stiles. “Just a couple of hours ago?”

Stiles shook his head. “Did I? Oh, I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Maybe?” Derek asked, and then he was a lot closer to Stiles than he had been.

“My dad is here,” Stiles breathed, and Derek nodded, looking over Stiles’ shoulder to where Sheriff Stilinski was making a coffee in the kitchen.

“I know, that’s why I used the door,” Derek explained, “but I think I woke him up.”

Stiles took a deep breath, ending up a whiff of Derek and he looked up to meet his eyes. “I feel like it’s my responsibility to tell you how I feel about you, if you’re going be…at my house.”

“I know how you feel,” Derek said, his mouth was so close to Stiles’ ear, then it was on his neck, and Derek Hale was a much different man in the afternoon than he was at four in the morning. “I can smell it on you.”

“Is that bad?” Stiles asked, pulling back.

Derek just shook his head. “If you wanna put some actual clothes on, I was kind of hoping that I could take you out.”

Stiles was pretty sure then, and he remains sure to this day, that he could hear exactly just how hopeful Derek was in that moment. And Stiles would not be the kind of person to break Derek’s heart like that.

That was three months ago. For the most part, Derek is still Derek. Stiles is also still Stiles, but of all the things Stiles could want to change about himself, his personality actually isn’t one of them. Derek is still kind of rude mixed in with lots of broody, which can get tiring for everyone involved, but he smiles more. Sometimes he actually _laughs_ , and hearing Derek Hale’s laugh is something that Stiles has come to constantly crave, leading him to sometimes act even more ridiculous and over-the-top than usual. Derek even lets Stiles cuddle close to him on the couch when he’s tired, cold, or just bored.

Honestly, Stiles has to admit that maybe Scott being bitten by a werewolf and bringing dark, depressing Derek Hale into their lives was actually for the best.

“How’d I get so lucky?” Stiles muses aloud to himself sometimes, because honestly, he can’t quite believe it. Everything that Derek is, and everyone else he’s around, they’re the total opposite of Stiles. Isaac could break Stiles’ arm in a second and be gone before Stiles could even scream. Stiles may have come through for the lacrosse team last year, but Scott and Jackson are co-captains. Jackson is captain of everything. Erica and Boyd are both so kick-ass, and tough, and gorgeous. Stiles feels like the piece that doesn’t fit.

Before summer ended, Lydia invited them all over for a pool party. Stiles had managed to coerce Derek into going, but only with the promise of Derek not having to swim. After everybody, except Derek, stripped down to their bathing suits, Stiles just stood quietly and took stock of the people sitting around him. Scott had Allison, which made sense, because she was really pretty, and very awesome, if not slightly frightening. Jackson was with Lydia, and Stiles would be the first to admit that Lydia was just perfection in female form. 

Then Stiles had looked down at himself, shirtless, standing next to Scott, and he looked over at Derek. It didn’t add up. All the other werewolves had chosen someone as strong, and at least as good-looking. Stiles’ reaction to most physical threats was just to run the other way, definitely not to fight, and Stiles thought that sixteen years of no girlfriends and no sex and only one kiss before Derek was enough to prove his general lack of attractiveness. 

“You okay?” Scott had asked when he saw Stiles staring, and Stiles just nodded, and grabbed his hoodie. No need for Derek to compare the two of them.

Later that night, after everybody had a few beers in them, Stiles was sitting on the edge of the pool, feet dangling in the water, keeping him cool. Derek had come up behind him, and sat down, asking him the same thing that Scott had. Stiles closed his eyes and leaned back against Derek’s strong chest, and tugged on Derek’s hand until his arm was around him. Stiles felt truly happy to be there with him, but Derek could still smell the sense of fear and uneasiness that surrounded him. Derek’s arm tightened around Stiles, holding him close. Derek was quick to jump to the assumption that Stiles’ fear was of him; there was no other reason that Stiles should be scared at a pool party. 

Derek had meant to say ‘I’ll never hurt you,’ but he didn’t want to admit to himself that Stiles might actually need that kind of confirmation. Instead, he just swallowed hard and tensed his body, looking very much like the Alpha. But then Stiles had turned and kissed him, smiling against his mouth, forcing Derek to smile back. Stiles’ fear momentarily dissipated, and Derek relaxed against him again.

\+ + + + +

Stiles practically had to force Derek to move somewhere else because he refused to spend any time in abandoned subways. Was Derek really rich, or not? Stiles could never tell, but he didn’t really care once Derek had taken him back to a new, very small place that Stiles senses is also abandoned, but at least it was an actual home at one point, and not one where Derek’s family had been murdered.

Derek is much more relaxed when he’s in his own space, so they inevitably end up spending most of their time together there. On this night, like most nights, Stiles is spread out on the couch, feet on Derek’s lap, but tonight, he’s already half-asleep when their movie is over. “Stiles,” Derek says, soft but strong, and Stiles cracks his eyes open. “I’m going to take you home.”

“No, please,” Stiles says, rolling onto his side, curling up. “Wanna stay.”

If Stiles had the bite, he’d be able to hear Derek’s heart currently starting to pound in his chest. It’s been three months. Derek can’t lie and say that he hasn’t thought about fucking Stiles in the past three months, or even longer. He’s thought about pushing Stiles down onto his bed and covering him with his body, fucking into him and making him cry out. He jerks off to the thought on most days. But he’s not pushing Stiles into anything, because if there is one thing that he knows better than most, is that adults pushing their way into the lives of sixteen-year-old boys can seriously screw with their heads.

“Are you sure?” Derek asks, and Stiles just nods sleepily, pushing himself up, and grasping onto Derek’s hand.

It’s not exactly a bed, but it’s a comfortable-enough mattress on the floor, with a couple of blankets that Derek doesn’t really need but that he keeps around anyway, since Stiles has taken to staying over every once in awhile. Stiles fumbles with his jeans, pushing them off, and he takes his hoodie off next, and he drops to the bed, crawling on his hands and knees towards the wall, curling up again on his side. He smiles up at Derek, reaching out to him.

Derek looks down at his own body, and wonders how much clothing is enough. He takes off his jeans, because Stiles did, and keeps his shirt on, because Stiles did. Derek moves onto the mattress, pulling up a couple of the blankets, tugging them around their waists. 

“Can I kiss you?” Stiles asks, and Derek nods as he moves closer to Stiles, letting Stiles take his time. Stiles gently presses his lips to Derek’s, his long fingers finding their way through Derek’s hair, tugging him in closer. He moves one hand down to Derek’s shoulders, and when his fingers curl there, Derek’s shirt slides up a few inches. Stiles pulls back, meeting Derek’s eyes, mouth hanging open, and he wants to say something, but he can’t possibly think of what it is, so he just kisses him again. This time it’s harder, with a sense of urgency even though they have all the time in the world, and Stiles is just really dead-set on becoming an amazing kisser. Luckily for him, Derek already is.

Derek surges forward, half-covering Stiles with his body. Stiles moans softly and arches against him, his legs falling open, and Derek easily moves in between them. Stiles’ stomach is doing flip-flops, and he’s almost too nervous for any of what Derek is doing with his tongue to feel good. _God_ , Stiles thinks, _why couldn’t I have just slept with someone,_ anyone _, just once so that I could have some frigging experience here?_ Because, Stiles knows, that if he’d had that experience, he’d be letting Derek fuck him right about now.

Derek has his hands up under Stiles’ t-shirt, tugging it up around his nipples, and then his mouth has dropped to Stiles’ chest. 

Stiles shuts his eyes tight and takes his hands off Derek’s back, squeezing them into fists.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, lifting his head. “Are you okay?” He gently cups Stiles’ cheek, thumbing his bottom lip.

“Can we just, let’s just slow down,” Stiles says apologetically, and it only serves to make him feel more awkward once the words are out there. “Sorry? But, but please.”

“Okay,” Derek says, and he moves back slightly, fixing Stiles’ shirt, tugging it back down, and he leans in to kiss Stiles softly. “It’s okay.” 

“Yeah?” Stiles asks breathlessly, and he smiles when Derek just kisses him again. “I’m sorry,” he whispers in Derek’s ear, holding him close.

“Don’t apologize,” Derek commands, and it’s so interesting for Stiles to see just how fast Derek can switch back into Alpha mode. “I don’t want to scare you,” he explains. Derek means it -- it’s the last thing he wants to do. He just hates that he actually has to say it, that Stiles doesn’t already know it to be true. Stiles shouldn’t have to apologize for feeling uncomfortable around him; Derek should be the one apologizing for making Stiles feel uncomfortable. He knew that they were moving too fast, but Derek gets so eager around Stiles, eager to touch him, and to make him feel good. He can’t help himself sometimes. Honestly, Derek knows by now that he should just leave Stiles alone and let him be sixteen without all of the issues that would come with their relationship, but he can’t stop trying.

Stiles smiles brightly and he pushes at Derek, moving him until Derek is on his side, and Stiles snuggles close to him, taking a deep breath. “G’night, Derek,” Stiles says with a yawn, and he slides one hand over Derek’s hip, just resting it there to keep him close.

“Goodnight,” Derek replies, pressing his lips to Stiles’ forehead.

When Derek wakes up in the morning, he’s resting on his back, and Stiles has been pulled on top of him. Stiles looks up at him with sleepy eyes and a lazy smile, rubbing his cheek on Derek’s shirt. “Morning,” Derek says.

“Good morning,” Stiles mumbles, stretching out, and a couple of his joints audibly pop in the quiet room. “Sleep well?” 

Derek just nods, and his gently slides his hands up and down Stiles’ back, for both Stiles’ enjoyment and his own.

“Me too.” Stiles yawns loudly, snuggling against Derek’s chest, and his eyes close again. “I’m sorry again about last night. I’m just--”

“Stop, I get it,” Derek says. “Okay? And don’t worry about it, I…get it.”

Stiles is back to being half-asleep when he murmurs, “Really? That’s nice.”

Derek frowns. He definitely can’t get back to sleep. _Yeah, I get it alright_ , he thinks. Derek just doesn’t want to admit to himself how much it fucking sucks.

\+ + + + +

Scott and Allison are trying to make it work again, so Scott is back to spending most of his time with her, leaving Derek to help Stiles practice lacrosse after school. Derek begrudgingly stands in the net as Stiles repeatedly throws the ball at him. It’s barely even worth it, since Derek can’t find a suitable in-between: he either wolfs out and makes sure that Stiles can’t make _any_ shots, or he just stands there and doesn’t move, ensuring that Stiles makes almost all of them. But Stiles likes the excuse to hang out with Derek, and he likes that he’ll be able to tell Coach Finstock that he’s been putting in the extra time.

Stiles runs around the field wildly, ducking invisible players and yelling various obscenities at opposing teams that aren’t there, leaving Derek to watch with a small smile on his face. When Stiles runs up and takes his shot, making it, he throws his fists into the air and does a victory dance on the grass.

“This might work better if someone else was playing with you,” Derek points out, lifting his hand to shade his eyes from the sun.

“Oh really, who would that be?” Stiles asks. “Lacrosse players I’m friends with: Scott, Isaac. Lacrosse players I know: Jackson. People I know who once played lacrosse: Boyd. I don’t think so.”

“You could always try Lydia,” Derek suggests, smirking, and for that, Stiles whips the ball at Derek’s face, but Derek catches it easily, throwing it back to Stiles. 

“Besides,” Stiles says, bouncing the ball up and down on his stick, “I like spending time with you.” He flashes Derek a smile and then he takes another shot. “Is that so bad?”

“I guess that depends on who you ask,” Derek says, walking out of the net towards Stiles.

“I was asking you,” Stiles murmurs, and he reaches up, his hand on the back of Derek’s neck, and he pulls him down into a kiss.

“Well then, no,” Derek replies when they pull apart, “it’s not so bad.”

“Aww,” Stiles says, and then he laughs, grabbing another ball from the ground. “Dude, you seriously like me.” Derek rolls his eyes, and Stiles just laughs again. “It’s okay,” Stiles assures him, “I kinda like you too.” He starts to blush once he says it, and he looks away because _holy crap you’re embarrassing yourself_ is all that he can think, but Derek doesn’t run away or laugh at him, and the queasy feeling in the pit of Stiles’ stomach dissipates. “Cool,” he says aloud with a nod, and Derek looks at him in confusion. “Oh, nothing.” Stiles shakes his head. “Uh, I think we’ve played lacrosse enough, is there something you wanna do today?”

Derek has many ideas, mostly ones that involve dropping to his knees in front of Stiles and listening to all the lovely sounds he’s sure to make, but he wants nothing less than to scare Stiles off again, so he just shrugs. “Nope.”

“Oh, okay,” Stiles says, trying to keep the hint of disappointment out of his voice. “Uh, so…you just wanna get a bite to eat then?”

“Sure,” Derek replies, slinging an arm over Stiles’ shoulders. He can sense the disappointment in Stiles’ voice, but he acts as if he doesn’t, because he doesn’t get it. Derek is trying to distance himself from Stiles, trying not to freak him out. Stiles shouldn’t be disappointed. The problem is, they were never really just friends, before they managed to get together. Derek needs to take a couple of steps back and work on that.

The problem is Stiles. For all the fear that Derek can sense on him, Stiles is pretty flirtatious. The only thing Derek can think is that maybe Stiles doesn’t know how afraid he really is. Derek should be the one to draw the line, because he can sense it, and because he’s the more experienced one, but every time Stiles looks at him the right way, it gets harder and harder.

Stiles wants fast food. They end up sitting across from each other in the food court at the mall, because Derek said he might need something there, each with an order of curly fries and a burger in front of them. Derek smiles at Stiles as he eats his burger, but Stiles can only look at Derek warily, studying him for some sign of…something.

But Derek isn’t acting the way that Stiles expects him to. He’s not forlorn, or angry. He doesn’t seem like he’s building his way up to a speech about how they’re just not ‘right’ for each other. He just keeps smiling, and what the hell is that about? When Derek reaches over to put his hand on Stiles’, Stiles isn’t entirely sure that this isn’t a dream. Because sweet, nice, caring, actual boyfriend Derek Hale is basically Stiles’ dream.

Derek thinks that he may slowly be winning Stiles back, making him smile again.

“So what do we need at the mall?” Stiles asks, looking around. He has to stop looking at his smile because Derek has the best smile for miles.

Derek shrugs. “I don’t know. New jeans, maybe. I think I lost a shirt somewhere. Nothing really important.” He takes a sip of his soda. He finds making polite small talk very difficult, even with someone as easy to talk to as Stiles.

“Lemme guess: black jeans, black shirt,” Stiles says, and it’s hard not smile a little at the idea of Derek actually going clothes shopping because everything he owns looks the same. “Or grey?”

“I don’t get many complaints about my wardrobe,” Derek shrugs, picking up a curly fry. “And also, I have more important things to think about.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asks, and suddenly, he’s invested because this has been a pet peeve of his since before he and Derek ever even came close to being together. “Who are these people _not_ complaining about your wardrobe? You basically spent your entire first two months in Beacon Hills creeping out of the woods, and trust me, the all-black wardrobe didn’t help anything.”

“They’re just clothes.”

“No, clothes make the man,” Stiles argues. “Dude, it’s like my life is _50 Shades of Grey_ right now, except it’s a thousand shades of Derek Hale black and basically my point is that you always look so friggin’ depressed!” Stiles is looking at Derek expectantly, his mouth hanging open, his hands raised up by his head in over-dramatic indignation.

Derek, on the other hand, can barely be bothered to raise an eyebrow at Stiles’ outburst from across the table, so maybe it is hard for Derek to always be nice to Stiles, even when he’s trying. “So?”

Stiles gets it: Derek is 99 percent doom-and-gloom when he’s not around Stiles, and sometimes even when he is, hence all of Stiles’ feelings. Derek looks depressed because most of the time, he actually is. But Stiles can’t help the fact that there is something so indescribably sexy to him about the idea of Derek in color. Because that maybe means that Derek is actually happy for once. 

If he was honest with himself, it also probably has something to do with the fact that the next time Stiles had pulled on his blue-and-orange polo after ‘Miguel’ had tried it on in front of Danny, he got hard almost instantly, and he’d ended up jerking off in it, come splattering on the fabric. He couldn’t bring himself to wash it, or throw it out, so it’s still balled up in the back of his closet. It was the first time Stiles had said Derek’s name when he came (but certainly not the last), and now, Stiles is determined. He feels like he needs to know, he wants _proof_ that maybe he’d had a positive effect on Derek’s life. And the evidence of that would be Derek is something other than a neutral.

But Stiles doesn’t want Derek to laugh him out of the mall, so he keeps all of that to himself and he just shrugs. “I don’t know, I just…” he mumbles, “if my dad asks you over for supper again sometime, you might wanna look nice?” 

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says, and immediately he knows that that’s not the way to gain someone’s trust, but he’s smiling, and there’s no real anger or heat to his words, so Stiles just sort of blushes and grabs a small handful of his curly fries. To backtrack, to actually let Stiles know that he wasn’t serious, Derek continues with a joke. “Stop objectifying me already. There’s more to me than my body.” 

Stiles laughs loudly at that, and it’s just a perfect Stiles laugh, with a piece of fry flying out of his mouth to land in front of Derek and then Stiles can only laugh even harder, even as Derek groans and rolls his eyes. 

“I think we’re done here,” Derek says, getting up from the table and walking towards the trash with his empty soda cup. Stiles hurries to eat as many curly fries as he can and rushes after Derek. Derek playfully bumps their shoulders together as they walk alongside each other and he’s relieved when he glances over and sees Stiles smiling brightly at him.

“What?” Derek asks, and Stiles just shakes his head. “Ugh, come here,” Derek says, and he slings his arm over Stiles’ shoulders, keeping him close. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but…what color?”

“No way!” Stiles gasps. “You’re going to let me buy you a shirt?”

“If it would make you happy,” Derek admits, and it’s true, but it doesn’t come easily because after everything, he hates that he’s still cares so much about others, but Stiles isn’t just anyone.

Stiles stops walking for a moment and takes that in, trying so hard to stay calm. “Okay, cool,” he says, attempting to be casual. “Because I know where I’m taking you.” He laces his fingers together with Derek’s and starts to lead him through the mall. “Oh, and purple, actually, it’s great, you’ll love it.”

Derek actually really doesn’t.

\+ + + + +

“Do you, um, wanna come up?” Stiles asks later that evening, when Derek drops him off. He’s shrugging his shoulder in the general direction of his front door, and meeting Derek’s eyes.

“Your father’s home,” Derek says after a quick glance at the house.

“Seriously?” Stiles replies, looking at the house. “Are you sure? Okay, of course you’re sure, but…man, I thought he was at work, or something. Damn.”

“C’me here,” Derek says, pulling at Stiles’ hand, unable to help himself because Stiles just looks so downtrodden now.

“Why?” Stiles asks.

“Why do you think?” Derek replies, sliding down in his seat, legs spreading just a bit, and he tugs at Stiles again.

“Ooh,” Stiles says, and he moves smoothly towards Derek, letting himself get pulled onto Derek’s lap. Stiles can’t stop touching him as they begin to kiss, can’t stop believing that a guy who was built for porn and sex and nakedness is underneath him right now. “Derek,” he moans softly when they pull apart for a breath and then one of Derek’s hands in on the back of Stiles’ head, pulling him back in, his tongue insistent and slick in Stiles’ mouth.

Derek’s other hand digs into Stiles’ hip, their mouths pressed hot and wet against each other as Stiles begins to rock down against Derek, the steering wheel starting to dig into his lower back just where his shirt and hoodie have started to ride up. Derek is already hard in his jeans, but every time Stiles grinds down on him, he feels like he’s growing impossibly harder. 

This is the best part, for both of them. Stiles is 100 percent comfortable with the kissing, with the gentle tugs and the feeling of Derek hard beneath him, his own dick getting harder in his jeans. This, Stiles could do for hours on end. He wants that. For Derek, it’s the same. What they’re doing now makes him feel good, and he knows it makes Stiles feel good too. It’s the perfect time, before Stiles starts to feel afraid, and before Derek pulls away. With their breathing loud and harsh, and their hands on each other, Stiles isn’t insecure, and Derek hasn’t done anything to make him feel even worse.

“Derek,” Stiles sighs breathlessly, his fingers curled into the hem of Derek’s t-shirt.

Derek moves his hand from Stiles’ hip, and slips it up under Stiles’ t-shirt. He can feel the jump and twitch of muscles under the skin, and the movement of Stiles on his hips falters. Derek looks up at Stiles to meet his eyes, but Stiles is nervously avoiding his stare, looking around the inside of the car. Derek takes a deep breath and suddenly he’s hit with the stench of fear and nerves and he immediately removes his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly, and Stiles’ eyes finally dart back down. 

Stiles nods and swallows hard, looking down to his fingers now nervously playing with Derek’s shirt. _Me too_ , Stiles thinks, and he offers Derek a weak half-smile, shifting on his lap. “I, uh…yeah, I just--” _I just don’t want you laugh your ass off at me._

“No, I get it,” Derek assures him. He feels like that’s all he ever says to Stiles these days. He tries smiling back, but it isn’t one of the real Derek smiles that Stiles has been on the receiving end of lately. It’s forced, and it’s just as nervous and depressed as Stiles feels on the inside. It only serves to make them both feel worse. “You should go in anyway, or else your dad is going to start getting suspicious. Okay?”

“Yeah, great,” Stiles mutters, rolling his eyes, sliding off Derek. “I’ll see you later.” He opens the door and climbs out of the car, letting the door slam behind him.

“Hey Stiles!” his father calls from the living room when he hears the front door open.

“Hey,” Stiles says flatly, heading up the stairs. If he actually stopped to talk to his father, he feels as though all of his emotions would just spill over, along with his tears, and the last thing he wants is to have his father comfort him and tell him how pretty he actually is, no matter what Derek or anyone else may think. 

Instead, he just climbs into bed and pulls the covers over his head.

\+ + + + +

They can’t stop seeing each other. Each of them is still attracted to the other, even though they’ve started to hate themselves on the inside. When they’re alone, their minds always turn to the things that are wrong with them. But when they’re together, their minds are always on all the good things about each other. So, Derek doesn’t actually think Stiles is cute. That’s fine, Stiles decides. Derek is an okay-enough person to hang out with otherwise.

Derek isn’t okay with Stiles being afraid of him, but he wants to keep trying to make it right.

Eventually, Stiles decides that they’re just going to have to fuck, just to get it out of the way. There are only so many times that a guy can jerk off, knowing that there is an actual live person possibly willing to have sex with him. His virginity isn’t like some precious gift; he has no problem getting rid of it, especially not with Derek. Once Derek has seen him naked, either he’ll leave (hopefully not) or he’ll stay. And Stiles can only get better with practice, so they may as well just do this. His fingers are shaking with nerves when he texts Derek, asking him if he wants to come over, and that his dad is out. He doesn’t explicitly say _I’m ready to fuck, so get ready for all of that_ , but he’s sort of hoping that Derek figures it out anyway.

Judging by how fast Derek got there, Stiles thinks he has. So, that’s a point for Stiles.

“Hey,” Stiles says when he hears his bedroom window open. Skipping the front door and going straight to the room with the bed? Another point.

“Hi,” Derek says.

“What’s up?” Stiles asks, as if he wasn’t the one who basically called him up for a booty-call.

“Uh…” Derek just shrugs, “just coming over. Like you asked.”

Stiles smiles and leans back in his desk chair, possibly too far because he throws himself off balance and has to quickly shoot up to make sure he doesn’t fall. “I missed you.” He stands up and starts tugging on Derek’s jacket, then pushing it off his shoulders, setting it on his desk.

Derek takes a deep breath, and _holy fuck_ can he smell the arousal coming off Stiles, but he desperately tries to steel himself against it. He knows how this will go; at this point, it’s inevitable. “We saw each other two days ago.”

“Too long,” Stiles murmurs, moving in close to Derek and his mouth is moving slowly over his jaw, because Stiles is just going to for it. It’s been three months -- actually, it’s been sixteen years of waiting for this.

“Stiles, I don’t know if we should--” Derek starts, but then Stiles is tugging insistently on Derek’s shirt, biting down on his lip. “Stiles--”

“Touch me,” Stiles breaths, “please.”

How the hell is Derek supposed to resist _that_? He pulls back and tugs his shirt over his head, and then his open mouth is on Stiles’.

At a time like this, Stiles actually wants to be slammed into the wall. He wants to be pressed hard into the wall, with his legs hiked up around Derek’s hips. He wants Derek’s dick in his hand, in his mouth, just _in_ him, but-- _No, brain_ , Stiles thinks, _no buts. Not this time._

But just because Stiles wants it, it doesn’t mean that he’s not totally starting to freak out again. _No, no, no_ Stiles pleads with himself, _no, you’re ready, just think it through. Come on, here, do not let me down._

Stiles makes the mistake of actually looking at Derek, and it’s entirely ridiculous that someone with that perfect of a body even exists, let alone is in his bedroom right now. And Stiles wants to put his mouth all over him, he wants to drop to his knees and tug off his jeans, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head saying _but you don’t know how, but Derek would have to be stupid to want you, but-- but-- but--_.

Stiles turns in Derek’s arms, so he doesn’t have to face him, but Derek keeps going. Derek slides his hands up Stiles’ sides, tugging on his t-shirt.

“Derek, please,” Stiles moans, leaning back against Derek, and he wants to say _stop, don’t_ but he can’t get those couple extra words out and then his arms are over his head and he’s shirtless and _oh god why am I shirtless next to the sex god?_ Derek grabs him and spins him around and now their bare chests are pressed together, and Stiles wants to be embarrassed by his lack of muscle, but Derek’s mouth is warm and wet as it moves down from Stiles’ neck to his chest, and over his stomach. “Oh, fuck.” Derek drops easily to his knees, looking up at Stiles as he starts to work on the buttons of Stiles’ fly _holy shit no_ is all that Stiles can think. A second after Derek has his fly undone, Stiles feels like he’s going to puke. A second after that, Derek can feel what Stiles is feeling, and he drops his hands and recoils. It doesn’t take long for Derek to feel like he’s the one going to be sick, because it’s killing him to feel how afraid of him Stiles really is.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says quickly, standing up and grabbing his own shirt, pulling it on quickly. He makes sure to keep his distance, to give Stiles space and hopefully allow him to calm down.

“No, I’m sorry,” Stiles says, trying to assure him, trying just to do anything to make Derek not _leave_ and he tries to grab his arm, and Derek just pulls back, leaving Stiles stunned and suddenly feeling all alone in the world.

If he’s truthful with himself, Derek can’t blame Stiles for being afraid of him -- before their relationship had begun, Derek spent most of his time slamming Stiles into walls and steering wheels. Stiles has seen him fighting. Stiles has seen him kill. And now Derek just expects that Stiles is going to be able to get over that? Life doesn’t work like that. “I’m gonna go.”

“You don’t always have to leave,” Stiles says, even though his stomach is doing gross flip-flops at the idea of going any further right now and he starts to look around desperately for his shirt. When he grabs it off the floor. Derek is already poised on his windowsill, ready to jump out. “Derek, I’m _sorry_ , I just can’t--”

“I’ll see you later,” Derek says and then he’s gone.

Stiles drops down heavily on his mattress and his eyes start stinging. He presses the ball of fabric that is his t-shirt against his face, trying to stop the tears before they start. He looks down at his lap, fixing his jeans. He rubs at his eyes and he falls back, staring at the ceiling. It takes all of his effort not to burst out in tears, because he feels shitty enough about himself already with Derek losing interest the second he takes his shirt off. He gets that Derek is perfection, and he isn’t. It’s okay for Stiles to hate his own body, but he really doesn’t want to know that Derek hates it too. At least be polite enough to lie about it, like a decent person.

Stiles sniffles and pushes himself up, leaving his shirt on the bed. He flicks off his bedroom light and pads towards the bathroom. When he flicks on the light, and walks by the mirror, he stops. The lighting makes the color of his skin look sickly, and his dark moles stand out in stark contrast. Stiles will admit that hours of lacrosse practice has given him arms that he can live with (and considering that his arms were strong enough to hold Derek up in a pool for a couple of hours, he doesn’t predict any complaints), but there’s almost no definition to his chest, or abs. 

It’s odd. Stiles had always been okay with the way he looked. Sure, there was always room for improvement, but despite all of his self-deprecating humour, he wasn’t actually unhappy with himself. Having the sexiest guy in Beacon Hills interested in him should make Stiles feel gorgeous. But it’s having the opposite effect -- it only made him feel inadequate next to Derek. Derek, who once climbed off his couch only to drop to the floor and do 50 push-ups in rapid succession because…Stiles still doesn’t know. He’s narrowed it down to several ideas in his head, but either way, who the fuck does that?

But the more Stiles stares at himself and thinks of it, maybe the sexiest guy in Beacon Hills _wasn’t_ actually interested in him. Unless being interested in someone meant that you ran away every time they were close to getting naked. Stiles rolls his eyes and walks out of the bathroom, going back to his room. He pushes the blankets out of the way and climbs in, snuggling in. He can’t shut his mind off, though. He _is_ scared of going further with Derek, because hey, awkward teenage virgin, Stiles is bound to be a little lacking the first few times, but he wants to try. He wants to push through his nerves and keep going. He really does want Derek to stifle his fears, and assure him that he’s worth it.

Unfortunately, it hits Stiles after what feels like a forever of thinking. Derek doesn’t think he’s worth it. Derek is focused on all of the flaws that Stiles is, and he obviously can’t get past them. Stiles spent the majority of his life chasing after a girl who never even noticed him, he doesn’t need to spend the next ten years fawning over a guy who doesn’t appreciate him. Maybe Derek just can’t appreciate anyone. Stiles has to admit that Derek has been through a lot of shit in his life, and no wonder Derek could barely crack a smile for the longest time, but that isn’t Stiles’ responsibility. He doesn’t have to fix Derek. He just has to fix himself.

 _Well then, fuck you, Derek Hale_ is the last thing that Stiles thinks before he drifts to sleep.

\+ + + + +

Despite his better judgement, Derek’s thoughts sometimes drift to Kate Argent, particularly after he leaves Stiles alone with his fear. Kate, beautiful on the outside, but cold and ugly on the inside. How different she was from Stiles. When Derek thinks back to his time with Kate, he can never remember the smell of fear. She had to have been disgusted by him; all of her actions since their relationship certainly proved that she hated him. But she never showed it. Maybe she was just so proud of herself that she never actually was afraid of him. Kate never loved him, but it seemed like she did. Derek had let himself believe that she did. Maybe it could work the other way. Maybe Stiles could love him, even if right now, it seemed like he didn’t. Maybe Derek would be able to win his trust, if he tried. Because Derek is pretty familiar with the sensation of his heart breaking and his insides dying. Despite what he tried for so long to convince people of, he does have a heart, and he isn’t entirely dead on the inside.

Derek knows that he has some changes to make if he’s going to be able to fight for Stiles.

\+ + + + +

“What in sweet ever-loving hell…” Stiles trails off, looking at the bouquet of flowers on the counter when he walks down the stairs in the morning. “Dad? Dad, what is-- what is this here, what’s happening?”

“They were on the front step this morning when I got up,” the sheriff explains, and he’s watching Stiles over his cup of coffee. “Any thought as to whom they may be from?”

“Are they for me?” Stiles asks, and he’s reaching out to tug gently at a couple of the petals, feeling them between his fingers. Real and everything. Maybe expensive, too.

“Well, are they for me?” the sheriff asks, and Stiles glances over at his father. “I don’t think so.”

Stiles swallows hard and his chest feels tight once he admits it. “I don’t know anyone who would send me flowers,” he says, and his eyes drop.

Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t quite know how to respond to that; there are a million thoughts running through his head, like how he knew that Derek Hale was bad news, but none of them seem appropriate to the actual situation, so he just stands up and walks over, clasping his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Is there something we should talk about?”

“No,” Stiles says quickly, going to the refrigerator.

“Okay then,” the sheriff nods, and goes back to his cup of coffee. “But I’d say that it looks like someone cares quite a bit about you. But hey, what do I know? I’m just an old man.”

Stiles is drinking from a bottle of milk when he hears his cell phone ring up stairs. He runs to his bedroom, taking the milk with him. He grabs the phone, but stops when he sees that it’s a text from Derek. He doesn’t want to read it. He tries not to read it. To stop being attracted to Derek, he has to just cut him out of his life. Besides, after Stiles’ embarrassing show last night, Derek was probably ready to break up with him anyway.

_‘Sorry if they’re ugly, I’m not exactly a florist’_

Stiles rubs at his eyes, staring at the screen. Okay, so it didn’t exactly look like they had broken up. 

Unless they were break-up flowers. Stiles jerks his head back in the direction of the stairs, and suddenly he wants to cry again. _Fucking Derek Hale._ Then he gets another text.

_‘I’m sorry about how things went last night’_

Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Stiles has continually successfully convinced himself that he and Derek aren’t actually dating. That they just spend a lot of time with each other, at each other’s houses or in their cars, and Derek has come over for a supper once or twice and Stiles had called Derek his boyfriend in front of Jackson once and Derek hadn’t even flinched, but he doesn’t want to let himself believe that he and Derek are _actually_ dating. Because, to Stiles, it just always seemed inevitable that it would end. Obviously, Derek would get bored, or frustrated with him, and just leave him. But flowers? Derek is obviously on-board the dating train. _Or_ , Stiles thinks, _he’s just looking for a nice, easy way to let me down._

Stiles bits his lip and looks down at the flowers, unsure how to respond. So, he just puts his phone down, and doesn’t. _That will help Derek get the hint,_ he thinks as he goes back downstairs.

\+ + + + +

Derek frowns down at the phone in his hand, waiting for a reply from Stiles. A reply that doesn’t come. He’s ready to smash his phone against the wall, but instead, he starts searching his brain for something else, something more that will let Stiles know he can be trusted. Something that Stiles had said to him the last time they were at the mall hits him, and when Derek looks across his room at the bag containing his purple V-neck, he smiles.

It feels odd enough to be calling the Stilinski house, not Stiles’ cell. It’s even odder to not ask for Stiles, but he feels like this will have to help.

\+ + + + +

It’s Thursday when Sheriff Stilinski has the day off. Derek comes to the Stilinski house about 30 minutes before Stiles is due to be home, wearing the purple shirt, and he immediately starts in the kitchen. Derek isn’t a gourmet chef or anything, but he knows how to read a recipe and he’s been on his own for quite some time.

The Sheriff is in the kitchen drinking a beer and watching Derek at work when Stiles comes home, rambling about his classes before he’s even really in the door. “I swear, I’m going to strangle him and then-- whoa whoa _whoa_!” Stiles comes to a stop when he sees Derek and his father. “What is…this?”

“Derek called a few days ago and asked if I’d be okay with getting a home-cooked meal out of him,” the sheriff explains. “I’m not turning that down.”

Stiles eyes Derek in the shirt, which he has to admit, is a good touch, but he’s still suspicious. “Alrighty then. Derek, can I talk to you for a second? Alone?” Stiles drops his backpack and then grabs Derek’s arm, pulling him away from the stove.

“It’s almost done,” Derek says to the sheriff as Stiles leads him away.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles asks, pushing Derek into the wall, and Derek’s instinct is _scare, attack_ but this is Stiles, so he just takes a deep breath.

“Making supper,” Derek says.

“No shit, Derek, I meant _why_?” Stiles demands. “What the fuck is this?”

“What do you think it is?”

“I have no idea anymore!” Stiles exclaims. “I don’t get it. I don’t get you. You’re-- you’re, yes, you’re in the shirt, which okay, you look gorgeous in, and you’re making my dad supper, but-- but it’s like you’re being _so_ nice that it just has to be--”

“Has to be what?”

“I-- goddamnit Derek, you make things difficult,” Stiles snaps. “Just go, okay. Just leave.”

“Why?” Derek asks, confused. “I thought you’d like this.”

“No, I don’t,” Stiles says, pushing Derek again. “I just-- I’m trying to get over you here, okay?”

“What?” Derek asks, straightening up. “So, this is just over, then. Officially.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles cries. “I-- Derek, just go home, please.”

“I thought that we could fix it,” Derek says. “I thought…I’m sorry, Stiles. I never met to scare you.”

Stiles’ eyes quickly search Derek’s face, and he steps back, confused. “Oh, come _on_ Derek, you don’t scare me, get the fuck over it, you stopped scaring me months ago. You don’t scare me, you make me feel like shit, and trust me, I make myself feel shitty enough, I don’t need you to do it for me too. Can you go now?”

Derek reaches out, beginning to understand. He grasps onto Stiles’ hand, but Stiles just jerks back. “Stiles, we need to talk.”

“Why?” Stiles snaps. “I think that you’ve said enough to me.”

“Obviously I wasn’t saying the right things,” Derek says, and he reaches for him again. “If you would just let me talk--”

“Go!” Stiles yells. “How am I supposed to get used to being alone if you won’t leave me alone?”

“You don’t have to be alone,” Derek tries to assure him, which is an odd shift in their relationship.

“Well, I’d rather be alone than with you, so go,” Stiles says, and he turns and walks back into the kitchen. “Derek is going now, Dad, say good-bye to your friend.”

“Is everything alright?” the sheriff asks, and he’s on his feet, ready to kick Derek’s ass at a moment’s notice, should Stiles request it.

“It’s fine,” Stiles says, barely glancing at Derek as he grabs his jacket. “Just fine.” He flinches when the door slams loudly behind Derek, and he rubs his eyes.

“Stiles?” the sheriff asks, taking a careful step towards him. “I know this might not be something you want to talk about--”

“You got that right,” Stiles interrupts, and turns, leaving the kitchen. His feet are heavy on the stairs up to his bedroom. The sound of his bedroom door slamming echoes through the house.

\+ + + + +

Derek can’t stop thinking about what Stiles said to him. He lies awake all night, staring at the ceiling, trying to wrap his head around it. “I don’t scare him,” he says, “I just make him feel like shit.”

_That’s even worse._

But _how_ did he make Stiles feel like shit? Recently, Derek means. It wouldn’t have surprised him to hear that he’d made Stiles feel like shit months ago. When they first met, Derek wasn’t trying to be friends with him. There was a long period of time where Derek couldn’t have cared less about Stiles. But now? Derek couldn’t figure it out. Thinking about their relationship since it had began, Derek thought that he had been okay. It’s not as if he’d had a lot of experience being a boyfriend, and he certainly wasn’t the best at showing his feelings (watching Scott with Allison, even Jackson with Lydia, it all made him feel inadequate). But he made Stiles feel like shit? It made no sense.

Until it did. Derek shot up in his bed, and grabbed his shirt, quickly pulling it over his head. He had to see Stiles. He had to make him understand.

But Stiles would never see him, and after the show at the house, the sheriff would never let him in to see Stiles. So Derek grabbed his phone instead.

_‘I didn’t stop because I hate you, I stopped because --_

Is Derek ready to say it? He’s ready to admit it to himself. He’s not entirely ready to say it to anyone else, but if anything is going to get Stiles to see him, it has to be this.

_I love you’_

In his room, Stiles reaches over to the nightstand and turns his phone off. Then he pushes it into the trashcan.

\+ + + + +

Derek doesn’t try to push it, so he stays mostly quiet on Friday, except for when he sends Scott a text, asking him if he’s seen Stiles. Scott replies with _‘yea but things are kinda awkward & confusing I probably shouldn’t say’_ which is just typical Scott and absolutely not helpful. Derek wants to ask Scott to apologize for him, but Scott actually probably would, and then Stiles would be in a fight with Scott too.

Isaac shows up and talks about how, if Stiles really means that much to Derek, he should try to go to him, and make some grand speech. It’d be a worthy idea, if Derek didn’t know that Stiles would just slam the door in his face. But Isaac is right about something: Derek needs to get face-to-face with Stiles.

Erica shows up and says that Stiles can’t really be worth it, he’s just a human. Derek slams her up against the wall when the words ‘weak’ and ‘pathetic’ come out of her mouth. It pisses him off even more than usual because now he’s figured out that that’s what Stiles actually thinks of himself. That Stiles thinks Derek thinks it too. Screw Erica if she thinks that she can get away with saying it too.

Ultimately, Derek makes the decision to hide out near the Stilinski home on Saturday evening. He sees the sheriff leave, and he can see Stiles through his bedroom window. He can tell that he’s alone. As he moves closer to the house, he knows that he’ll be lucky if Stiles doesn’t call his father on him. On the lawn, he contemplates the front door versus Stiles’ window. He chooses the front door, opening it and closing it behind him quietly. He swallows hard, looking up the staircase, listening to Stiles in his room. Derek knows that he can still turn and walk away, but then he steps forward.

Derek is tired of walking away from Stiles.

Stiles’ bedroom door is open, which ruins Derek’s plan of just knocking. He steps up to the door, and takes a deep breath. Stiles chooses that moment to turn around. He doesn’t see Derek at first, but then he does a double take and jumps out of his chair.

“Leave, now,” Stiles commands, rushing at the door, trying to shut it in Derek’s face.

“Stiles, please, just let me talk to you,” Derek says, moving quickly past Stiles into the bedroom. “Okay? I’m not a words guy, so just let me get this out now, once, and then I’ll leave you alone. Okay?”

“No, you’re going to leave now or I’m going to call my dad,” Stiles says, looking around for his cell phone.

“Stiles,” Derek says insistently, taking a step towards him. “I’ve misunderstood you for a long time now.”

“Go, please,” Stiles begs, and he grabs onto Derek’s jacket, trying to pull him towards the door. 

“Every time we were with each other, I could smell you,” Derek continues, ignoring Stiles.

“Fuck off,” Stiles says quickly.

“You smelled like fear,” Derek says. “So I stopped.”

“I was never afraid of you!”

Derek nods. “I know, you told me. And you told me I treated you like shit.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, I told you that you made me _feel_ like shit.”

Derek’s hands are in his pockets, and he’s staring at Stiles. He wants to ask him _who did this to you, who made you feel this way, who told you weren’t good enough_ but he’s having enough trouble getting through this without all of those emotions. “And I’m sorry. Because I didn’t know what I was doing. I thought leaving you was what you wanted.”

“I wanted you to stay,” Stiles says. “I always wanted you to stay. I mean, my head would always freak out and I’d-- but most of me wanted you to stay.”

Derek nods once. “Do I have to spell this out for you or…”

“Don’t get snippy with me,” Stiles snaps. “Great. You’re sorry for leaving. Now you have my permission to leave.”

“You think I’m not attracted to you,” Derek says, overlooking Stiles’ request. “Stiles, that’s just…stupid. You think I’d be with you if I weren’t attracted to you? I’m attracted to all of you. Everything about you.”

This is already like 50 sentences longer than their next longest conversation, so Stiles is having trouble processing what’s going on, and he rubs his head, trying to think, but it’s already so complicated and why couldn’t Derek have just been simple and easy? But Derek was obviously trying here, so Stiles decided to try as well.

“I was scared that I wouldn’t be good enough for you,” Stiles says quietly, and his eyes can’t meet Derek’s. “That was all.”

“Why wouldn’t you be good enough?” Derek asks, and he wants to reach for Stiles and pull him in, but he doesn’t. 

“Because,” Stiles says, and he has absolutely no intention of continuing. That answer should be enough. He looks down at himself, waves a hand over his body, and looks back up at Derek sadly. “And because.” He waves his hand at Derek now, then shrugs. His eyes are shining bright, he thinks he’s about to cry, and he tries to force himself not to.

“Stiles.”

Stiles just sniffles and looks away again. 

“If you tell me to stop, I will,” Derek says, and he’s shrugging off his jacket, and toeing off his shoes.

Stiles steps back. “What are you doing?” He half-expects Derek to burst into a monologue from _The Help_ , whispering ‘you is kind, you is important’ in his ear, but he’s pretty sure that Derek never saw that movie. He chuckles softly, until he remembers where he is and what he’s doing.

Derek slowly pushes Stiles’ hoodie off his shoulders, and it falls to the floor by Derek’s jacket. “Do you trust me?” he breathes, his lips moving softly over Stiles’ neck as his hands slip under Stiles’ t-shirt. 

Stiles is momentarily unable to answer, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep his stomach from jumping. But then he nods, and lets out a deep, yet shaky, breath. His shirt is tugged over his head, and it’s really, really not fair, because Derek is still totally dressed. “I’ve never done this before,” he blurts out, because he needs to take his mind off Derek’s hands and his body. 

“I know,” Derek nods, and his eyes are on Stiles’, but his hands are deftly undoing Stiles’ jeans.

“I _know_ you know,” Stiles says, “I’m just saying…”

Derek waits patiently, and his fingers have stilled on Stiles’ jeans.

“I’m just saying,” Stiles repeats, “that this is gonna _suck_. Okay?”

Derek just ignores that, and tugs Stiles’ jeans down. He starts to kneel, looking up at Stiles, but he stops before pulling down his boxers. “Do you want to do this on the bed instead?” he asks.

“Are you serious?” Stiles asks. “I just told you that I’m going to be horrible at sex because of how much a virgin I am, and you’re still going forward with this?”

“Stiles, do you really think that I didn’t know that you were a virgin when we started this?” 

“Hey! I _could’ve_ had sex before I met you, you don’t know that. I lived my life for sixteen years without you in it. Maybe I was an early bloomer.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Stiles, I want to have sex with you.” He raises an eyebrow, waiting expectantly.

Stiles stares down at Derek, not saying anything for awhile. “Well, I wanna have sex with you too,” he says finally, and he can’t even look at Derek right now.

“Get on the bed, then,” Derek commands, standing up.

Stiles steps out of his jeans, deciding to leave his boxers on, and goes to his bed. He crawls forward on the mattress, and then rolls over in time to watch Derek strip off his shirt, tossing it to the side. Derek undoes his jeans and pushes them down, then he’s on the bed too, crawling forward, and he looks downright predatory right now. 

“Just lie back,” Derek says, and his hand is on Stiles’ chest, gentle but firm, and Stiles listens, settling down, his head on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. He can feel his nerves start back up again, and he has to clasp his hands together on his stomach to keep them from shaking. 

Derek sits back on his ankles when he can smell the familiar scent of Stiles’ fear again, and he can practically feel his nerves vibrating, but he gets it this time. It doesn’t tear him up inside any less, but he hopes that he’s better at making Stiles feel good about himself than he was at trying to get Stiles to be not afraid of him. He moves until he’s straddling Stiles, and he leans down, gently cupping his cheeks, tilting his head and bringing him in for a kiss.

Stiles thinks that it’s surprisingly soft and sweet, considering their state of undress and the fact that they’re alone in the Stilinski house, but hey, he has no problem with that. He lifts his hands, curling them around the back of Derek’s neck, keeping him close. He likes the brush of Derek’s stubble against him, _loves_ the curl of Derek’s tongue against his, and he thinks _holy crap_ when Derek shifts and he can feel how hard he really is.

“Okay?” Derek asks, pulling back, and Stiles wants to shake his head and pull Derek back in and just kiss him for hours, but he just nods. Derek shifts again and this time his lips are on Stiles’ neck, sucking and biting gently at the skin. He moves down, across his collarbone. He moves his hands down Stiles’ ribs, gripping his hips, and he moves his mouth again. He hovers above Stiles’ nipple, breath warm and heavy, and he looks up at Stiles. Stiles has his head awkwardly lifted off the pillow, and he’s looking down at Derek expectantly, biting his lip.

“I uh, I don’t know uh…” Stiles waves his hand and has to rest his head back down before he gets an awful crick in his neck, “I mean, I’ve only ever tried a couple of times, and it didn’t do much, but--”

“Can I try?” Derek asks, and _um yes, you can try anything if you keep using that voice_ , Stiles thinks, but he just nods furiously.

Having Derek’s mouth warm, wet, and heavy on Stiles’ nipple still doesn’t do too much for him, but hey, it’s Derek, shirtless, on his bed, with his mouth on him and that alone is enough to have Stiles hard, and he can feel himself leaking in his boxers. Maybe Derek can sense that Stiles isn’t super-sensitive there, so he moves on. Actually, he’s moving down, which Stiles notices, and he lifts his fist to his mouth, biting down.

Derek looks up when he hears a tiny squeak, and he smiles at the sight of Stiles. “Are you okay?”

“Derek, as much as I really would kind of like you to keep going where you’re going,” Stiles starts in a hurry, “if you actually do… _that_ I’m probably going to--” and he keeps talking but Derek can’t really hear him anymore because he’s now mumbling.

“Going to what?” Derek asks.

“Come in your mouth,” Stiles finishes, and his skin is hot, he can feel it, he’s flushed with embarrassment, and he’s thinking _oh god why did I say that?_ but then Derek’s hands are on the waistband of his boxers and he lifts his head. “Seriously? How are you still going?” Stiles lifts his hips and lets Derek pull his boxers off but he has his own eyes squeezed shut because he doesn’t need to see this. He doesn’t need to see Derek’s judging eyes, he can already feel them on him, and _holy shit_ that is certainly not Derek’s stare he feels wrapped around his dick.

“Okay, maybe I do need to see this,” Stiles says, not really meaning to say it aloud, but he props himself up on his elbows anyway. “Oh, Jesus,” he groans, his head going back, and one of his hands moves to Derek’s head. It’s like he can’t help but grabbing onto his hair. It’s also like he’s going to come in about thirty seconds, which is downright embarrassing. Expected, but embarrassing. His fingers clench and his toes curl and he’s whimpering, really quite loudly, and he’s sort of trying to push Derek off, and he’s sort of trying to push him down at the same time. “Derek, you should-- oh fuck, Derek, I’m really gonna--”

He doesn’t have time to finish that sentence because then he finally does come, and it’s the first time that Derek has actually made Stiles come (as opposed to the idea of Derek making Stiles jerk off alone in his room) and Stiles is just really, really sorry that he hadn’t managed to push Derek off of him.

Well, he’s sorry, but he also feels all sorts of amazing, tingly, and happy. Until Derek pulls off, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and then noticeably swallows.

“Oh, god,” Stiles moans, rolling over onto his stomach, burying his face in his arms and his pillow. “I’m sorry Derek, I’m really sorry, I just-- I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek murmurs in Stiles’ ear, and his voice is rough and all Stiles can think is _me, I did that, that’s awesome!_ “I liked it.”

Stiles moans again, but it’s sort of for a different reason this time. “Did you want me to-- to blow you now?” he asks.

“No,” Derek replies, and then his mouth is moving down Stiles’ back, counting his moles with his mouth, and Derek’s mouth is just all kinds of wonderful, and Stiles presses back into it, arms wrapped around his pillow now. Derek’s mouth stops at the small of Stiles’ back, nipping gently at the small dimples, and Stiles can feel his dick trying to get back into the action.

Derek’s hands are on Stiles now, spreading him, and Stiles lifts his head to protest but then Derek has dipped down, his tongue lapping at the tight rim of muscle and pushing against it.

Stiles lets out a broken cry, and honestly, he had no idea that it would ever feel _this_ good, he actually thinks that given enough time Derek could make him come again like this, but he’s also mortified, because fucking Derek Hale, Beacon Hills’ number one hottie, has his mouth on his ass and Stiles starts freaking out. “No, please, I-- Derek, I--”

Derek lifts his head, and his tongue wets his lips while he waits for Stiles to continue. 

“Don’t,” Stiles says weakly. “It’s…embarrassing.”

“Does it feel good?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods despite his better judgement. “Do you really want me to stop?” Stiles waits a beat and then shakes his head once. “Okay then. Don’t be embarrassed.” Derek dips back down, spreading Stiles further with his broad hands, his tongue moving harder, and faster, and Stiles cries out when it pushes past the muscle. He bites down on his pillow, his eyes squeezed too tight, and that’s it, his dick is back to being hard, pressed into the mattress. Stiles starts to rock his hips, he can’t help it, so his dick is being rubbed into the sheets and he’s pressing back against Derek’s mouth and all of it is just too much again.

Derek’s mouth pulls back, and Stiles takes the opportunity to reach down and squeeze his dick, but then he sees Derek with a couple of his fingers in his mouth, wetting them thoroughly.

“Derek?” Stiles pants, and he has to squeeze his dick again.

Derek shifts, getting up on his knees, and Stiles can see just how hard Derek is in his boxer-briefs, a wet spot forming where his dick has been leaking. “What do you want?” Derek breathes, and his fingers trace the loosened rim of muscle. Stiles cries out loudly when Derek pushes in, and at first it’s uncomfortable pressure but then Derek manages to find his angle and pleasure starts spiking through Stiles’ body with every touch. His cock is heavy and leaking steadily beneath him onto his bed, and Stiles knows that if he started jerking off right now he’d maybe only last another 10 seconds.

“Fuck me,” Stiles begs, “I-- I want you to fuck me.” He starts to try to push himself up on his hands and knees, and Derek reaches around, starting to stroke his dick, quickly, and in time with his fingers inside him. Stiles jerks and then he’s coming again, onto his bed and Derek keeps stroking him, keeps it going for as long as Stiles allows it, until he groans weakly and half-pushes him away. Stiles slumps on the bed, making a face of disgust when his hip lands in the wet spot, but he can’t be bothered to move. He feels like he’s dying. “Holy shit,” he muses aloud, “what a way to go.”

Derek chuckles behind him, and Stiles can feel him shifting behind him, and he really wants to look but he’s just really wiped out after that. Stiles can see Derek reaching for his bedside table, tugging open the drawer and pushing things around in it. There’s lube, but Stiles has no condoms, having never needed them before. 

“Can you get sick at all?” Stiles asks, and he has to blink a couple of times to focus on Derek.

Derek shakes his head, but he doesn’t stop looking through the drawer.

“Then don’t worry about it,” Stiles says, reaching out, grasping onto Derek’s wrist. “Okay? You’re not just anybody.”

Derek looks down at Stiles, and he doesn’t even have to ask _are you sure?_ because Stiles is just smiling and nodding. Derek moves off the mattress just long enough to push his boxer-briefs down, kicking them off his feet, and then he’s back behind Stiles.

“No, I wanna see,” Stiles mumbles, and that’s another embarrassing thing that Stiles has said in front of Derek, but Derek just smiles, sitting with his knees up and his legs spread. His dick is hard, and _huge_ , Stiles notes, curled up towards his stomach, and Derek opens the lube and strokes himself with it a few times.

Stiles assumes that Derek will want him on all fours, so that’s the position he starts trying to push himself into, his head hanging low between his shoulders, but Derek doesn’t move. “Turn back around,” he commands instead. Stiles does, and Derek helps guide him to straddle his hips. Stiles slings his arms loosely over Derek’s shoulders, keeping himself up on his knees as Derek smears lube over his hole and pushes in a few more times, this time with three fingers, and then Derek’s hand is on his hip while the other holds onto his dick. 

“It’s okay,” Derek says softly, nudging at Stiles with his nose, kissing his neck. “It’s okay. Stiles, you have no idea how good you really are.”

Stiles shifts over Derek, and he can feel Derek pressing against him, but not into him. Stiles knows that Derek is waiting for him to be ready. He knows that he’ll have to be the one to press down, because Derek isn’t pushing him into anything. Stiles presses his forehead to Derek’s chest, and his fingers curl around the back of his neck and then he’s moving, he’s pushing down, and Derek is guiding himself into him. The head pushes past the rim of muscle and Stiles bites down on his lip, enough to make himself bleed. Stiles holds onto Derek, their chests pressed together, sticky with sweat and pre-come and actual come, as Derek slowly slides into him.

If they were standing next to each other, Stiles wouldn’t actually look that much smaller than Derek. They’re practically the same height. But here, wrapped around Derek, impossibly close to him, Stiles feels small. He feels weak when he feels Derek’s muscles against him. This is what had always scared him, but when Stiles buries his face in Derek’s neck, it’s only soothing sounds and touches, not laughter, and certainly not running away.

Stiles’ hips settle against Derek’s. His breaths are short and tight, and he occasionally whimpers. He knows it would be easier for either one of them to start moving if they changed positions. He can picture Derek above him, thrusting in hard and fast; or Derek on his back, and Stiles above him, riding him, but he doesn’t want to give up how close they are. Not for this first time, anyway. “Derek,” he says, his voice breaking, and then Derek’s mouth is on his, his hands are sliding up Stiles’ back, holding him close as he starts to rock his hips, fucking into him. Derek’s mouth tastes different to Stiles now, and Stiles knows that it has to be him. He swipes his tongue into Derek’s mouth, urgent and needy.

Stiles’ hips pick up the rhythm, and as Derek fucks up into him, Stiles is rocking down against him. Their arms are wrapped around each other, and the entire thing is more intimate than either of them honestly ever thought that Derek could be again. Their kiss breaks apart but their lips hover by each other, heavily panting into each other’s mouths. Stiles drops his mouth to Derek’s neck, biting softly and then licking the red skin away. One of his hands drops to Derek’s chest, curling on his pec, his fingernails scratching against his nipple, then rubbing it with the heel of his palm. He honestly has no idea what he’s doing, which was the whole point of his nerves to begin with, but now, being here, it just feels natural anyway. Like everything is okay. 

Stiles has started to feel dizzy, the entire thing has taken on a heady, blurry texture. He isn’t sure if he can come again, but that isn’t his goal: his goal is to make Derek come now. 

Stiles feels bold enough, and he lifts his head to look Derek in the eye. “Are you going to come?” Stiles asks, and Derek just groans and manages to give a curt nod. “I want you to,” Stiles continues, and he swipes his thumb against Derek’s bottom lip. “I want to feel it, okay? You don’t have to hold back anymore.” He pulls Derek in so that his mouth is by Derek’s ear, and he whispers, “you already made me feel so good.”

Derek’s fingers dig into Stiles’ back, hard enough that they’re sure to leave marks, and his dick jerks inside him, and then Stiles can feel him coming inside him, and it’s so different from anything he’s ever felt before but it’s okay because it’s Derek, and Stiles knows now that it will always be Derek. It has to be.

When Derek finally finishes coming after what feels like forever, their hips still. It’s just the two of them, quiet and close together, no other noises in the room except for the sound of their breathing trying to calm back down. Stiles shifts to hook his ankles behind Derek’s back, but he feels Derek slide out of him instead. He tries to contain his disappointment, but Derek just smiles and then gives him a kiss. Derek moves the both of them so that Stiles is on his back, and Derek pulls back. He climbs off the bed and gets up to both turn the bedroom light off and shut the bedroom door. 

Stiles rubs his eyes, awkwardly fumbling to get under the blankets because now his skin feels chilly, even though his insides feel hot. He makes room for Derek, though his bed wasn’t really built for two, and then he turns over onto his side, Derek curled behind him.

\+ + + + +

When Stiles wakes up, he has no idea what time it could possibly be. He has no idea what time they fell asleep. There is light filtering in through his window now, so if he had to guess…he can’t guess. He can barely remember the day. _Is it Saturday? Sunday? Is there school today?_ He decides that no, there is no school today, so he stays in the bed with Derek.

“Morning,” Derek says quietly, lifting his head off the pillow.

“Morning,” Stiles says with a grin, because _oh yeah, I had sex last night_ he thinks. He turns around so that he’s facing Derek, and still with a grin, he gives him a kiss. 

“Your dad’s home now, so we should be quiet.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Of course that’s all that Derek can say. Well, Stiles wants him to say something else, so he decides to start. “Was that okay last night?” he asks.

“Of course,” Derek says, but his voice has changed slightly. It’s more…protective, Stiles decides.

Stiles decides to go with it. He spent far too much time thinking that Derek wasn’t attracted to him, so he’s milking this. At least for awhile. “You had fun worshipping at the altar of Stiles Stilinski?”

Derek rolls his eyes now, and then he moves so that he’s on his back, looking up at the ceiling. “You didn’t get that message already?”

Stiles shrugs, and pushes himself up on one arm. “Would it be horrible if I thanked you?”

“You don’t have to thank me, Stiles,” Derek says, eyes flicking over to him. “It wasn’t a favour.”

“It felt like one,” Stiles admits softly. “A good one, a fun one, but I still can’t help thinking that--”

“Well then, just stop thinking,” Derek interrupts. “Got it?”

“I’ve just never had anything as good as you before,” Stiles continues, looking down at his fingers, because he can’t look at Derek.

“Hey.” Derek reaches over and cups Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles finally looks back up. “Me either.”

Stiles brightens, and he can’t help the instant smile that spreads on his face. Derek Hale could literally have anyone in Beacon Hills, but he’s chosen him. Stiles feels good enough. Which is horrible, he knows; he knows that if he ever explained all of this to his father that his dad would give him a lecture about how his self-worth shouldn’t depend on what others think about him, but Derek isn’t just anybody.

“Stop thinking,” Derek snaps.

“I was only thinking good thoughts!” Stiles says. “Good thoughts about how awesome my hot boyfriend is and how lucky I am.” He smiles and rests his head on Derek’s chest, looking up at him. “What about you? Same thing, I bet.” He’s sort of half-joking, half-trying to tempt Derek into further complimenting him.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Hey! What happened to how awesome I am?” Stiles says, pushing himself up. He lightly punches Derek in the shoulder. “Maybe there _is_ no breakfast.”

“If you’re around, there’s breakfast,” Derek says, and he closes his eyes. “Wake me up for it.”

“I’m not done talking here.”

“You’re not talking, you’re fishing for compliments,” and okay, Derek is onto him. Stiles leans down and gives Derek a kiss.

“If you want, you can fish for compliments too,” Stiles says. “Do you wanna hear all the awesome things about you?” 

“No. Stop talking. It’s still early.”

“I’m going to quote somebody here, someone whom I pretty sure you’ve never heard of, but just listen--”

“No, I’m not listening.”

Stiles smiles, and finally he just lies back down, curling into Derek’s side. “Okay, okay, I’ll shut up now.” He sighs heavily, and then it turns into an actual yawn. Derek’s arm moves over his shoulders, keeping him close as they both drift back to sleep.

\+ + + + +

For the most part, Derek is still Derek. Stiles is also still Stiles, and now, there’s very little that he would ever want to change about himself.

Honestly, Stiles has to admit that maybe Scott being bitten by a werewolf and bringing dark, depressing Derek Hale into their lives was actually for the best.


End file.
